October has always been my favorite month. Crisp air, crunchy leaves, those goddamn sweet gum balls to trip over. After I had some breast cancer years ago, I discovered yet another reason to like October: Breast Cancer Awareness month! I recall with nostalgia how pink-labeled produce pissed me off when I still had The Cancer. Shopping for food was a mine field of lady cancer reminders. I didn’t want to see pink bows on my fucking bulk nectarines. Enough pink-wash already. Nowadays, I don’t even scoff at the Komen Foundation pink sprinkling in my grocery store. That, my friends, is progress!
ALL FOLKS WITH BREAST CANCER SHOULD KNOW ABOUT The Women’s Health and Cancer Rights Act of 1998 (WHCRA) BECAUSE INSURANCE COMPANIES SUCK.
breast cancer awareness candy Bra
My cancer was Stage 1 invasive ductal carcinoma. It’s the most common, most treatable kind. As a result, I skated through cancer with a lumpectomy and radiation. Still, cancer is the gift that keeps on giving. A few years ago, long after my cancer diagnosis, I had to call upon my breast surgeon to install new boobs after the old ones deflated. Actually, only one of my tires lost air, or whatever was in there. However, like motorcycles, you can’t drive with only one tire. Yes, deflation is a thing that happens. Also, I’m comparing boobs to motorcycles and the analogy doesn’t work AT ALL. Apparently.
Thanks to The Women’s Health and Cancer Rights Act of 1998 (WHCRA), fucking insurance had to pay for my new rack, minus outrageous deductibles and overcharges. Please, know your rights and the rights of your boobs, people! The WHCRA is the federal law that provides protection for patients who choose to have breast reconstruction in connection with a mastectomy. Male legislators AND Insurers can suck it.
pasta boobs: breast cancer awareness in a box
I wish I could tell you I had an existential life epiphany after the cancer diagnosis. Sadly, I think I’m the same asshole I’ve always been. I still yell at my children when they send me off a cliff, but I think I linger longer when I hug them. One improvement is I’m mostly immediate in my apologies. I do pay more attention to what I put into my body. The annoying part is I don’t always do what I know I should. That’s being human, I suppose. For real, I could eat less crap, get more sleep and exercise more. Also, the Pandemic drove me into two-months of binge smoking. I got better! I stopped! Self trash talk is still a hobby. Now I meditate and exercise to tamp that shit down. I can calm myself more quickly than I did before. More progress, even if it’s not an epiphany. Thanks, Cancer!
Celebrating boobs should be a year-round event. And since pictures speak louder than words, please enjoy these random, mostly boob-centric real life sightings.
Okay, some of you may have noticed that this isn’t a breast. In fact, it’s a Faux Tree Vulva which I’ve chosen to capitalize. The vulva seemed to go with the girl parts theme. It hung on the wall at Foundation Grounds Coffee House in St. Louis, Missouri for years. It’s not often I come across a faux vulva, so I had to share. Would have been selfish not to share.